Last Witnesses Read online

  We rode for a long time. The train moved slowly, we could see very well…Dead people lay on the embankment, arranged neatly like railway ties. This has stayed in my memory…They bombed us, and we shrieked, and the shrapnel whizzed. At the stations some women fed us—they knew from somewhere that a train with children was coming—and we kissed their hands. A nursing baby turned up among us. His mother had been killed in the shelling. And a woman at the station saw him and took off her kerchief to use as a diaper…

  That’s it! Enough! I’m too agitated. I shouldn’t get agitated, I have a bad heart. I’ll tell you in case you don’t know: those who were children during the war often died before their fathers who fought at the front. Before the former soldiers. Before…

  I’ve already buried so many of my friends…

  * In 1939 Soviet forces fought a series of battles against the Japanese on the border of Mongolia. The conflict was named for the river Khalkhyn Gol, which flowed through the battlefield.

  “I LOOKED AT THEM WITH A LITTLE GIRL’S EYES…”

  Zina Gurskaya

  SEVEN YEARS OLD. NOW A POLISHER.

  I looked at them with a little girl’s eyes. A little village girl. With wide open eyes…

  I saw my first German closely…A tall man, blue eyes. I was so surprised: “Such a handsome one, and yet he kills.” It was probably my strongest impression. My first impression of the war…

  We lived—mama, two little sisters, a little brother, and a hen. We had just one hen left, she lived with us in the cottage, she slept with us. Hid from the bombs with us. She got used to following us like a dog. No matter how hungry we were, we spared the hen. We starved so much that during the winter mama boiled an old leather coat and all the whips, and they smelled of meat to us. My little brother was a nursling. We cooked an egg in boiling water and gave him the water instead of milk. Then he would stop crying and dying.

  Around us there was killing, killing, killing…People, horses, dogs…during the war all our horses were killed. All the dogs. True, the cats survived.

  During the day the Germans would come: “Mother, give us eggs. Mother, give us lard.” There was shooting. During the night the partisans would come…The partisans had a hard time surviving in the forest, especially in winter. They knocked on the window during the night. Sometimes they took things peaceably, sometimes by force…They led away our cow…Mama wept. And the partisans wept…I can’t tell about it. I can’t, my dear. No, no!

  Mama and grandma plowed like this: first mama put the yoke on her neck and grandma walked behind the plow. Then they changed places and the other became the horse. I wanted to grow up quickly. I was sorry for mama and grandma.

  After the war there was one dog for the whole village (a stray one who stayed) and one hen, ours. We didn’t eat eggs. We collected them to hatch some chicks.

  I went to school…I tore off a piece of old wallpaper—that was my notebook. Instead of an eraser—a cork from a bottle. We had beets in the fall, and we were glad because we could grate some beets and have ink. The gratings stand for a day or two and turn black. We had something to write with.

  I also remember that mama and I liked to embroider in satin stitch, and always wanted to have gay little flowers. I didn’t like black threads.

  I still don’t like the color black…

  “OUR MAMA DIDN’T SMILE…”

  Kima Murzich

  TWELVE YEARS OLD. NOW A RADIO TECHNICIAN.

  Our family…

  We were three sisters—Rema, Maya, and Kima. Rema stood for Electrification and Peace, Maya for May 1, Kima for Communist Youth International. Our father gave us these names. He was a Communist. He joined the party when he was young. He brought us up this way. There were many books at home, also portraits of Lenin and Stalin. In the first days of the war we buried them in the shed. The only one I kept for myself was The Children of Captain Grant by Jules Verne. My favorite book. I read and reread it all through the war.

  Mama went to the villages near Minsk and exchanged shawls for food. She had a pair of nice shoes. She even took her only dress made of crepe de chine. Maya and I sat and waited for mama: will she come back or not? We tried to distract each other from these thoughts, we remembered how we used to run to the lake before the war, to swim, to lie in the sun, how we danced in school amateur performances. How long the alley was that led to our school. The smell of the cherry preserves mama cooked in the yard on stones…They were so far away now, all these good things. We talked about Rema, our older sister. All through the war we thought she was dead. She left for her work at the factory on June 23 and never came back…

  When the war was over, mama sent requests everywhere, searching for Rema. There was an address bureau, there was always a crowd of people there, people were all looking for each other. I kept going there carrying mama’s letters. But there was no letter for us. On her days off mama used to sit by the window waiting for the mail woman to come. But she always went past.

  Once mama came back from work. A neighbor called on us. “Dance!” she said to mama—and she held something behind her back. Mama realized that it was a letter. She didn’t dance, she sat down on a bench and couldn’t get up. Or speak.

  Our sister was found. She had been evacuated. Mama began to smile. All through the war, until we found our sister, our mama hadn’t smiled…

  “I COULDN’T GET USED TO MY NAME…”

  Lena Kravchenko

  SEVEN YEARS OLD. NOW AN ACCOUNTANT.

  Of course I knew nothing about death…No one had time to explain it, but I just saw it…

  When the machine guns rattle away from an airplane, it feels as if all the bullets are aimed at you. In your direction. I begged, “Mama, dear, lie on me…” She would lie on me, and then I didn’t see or hear anything.

  Most frightening was to lose mama…I saw a dead young woman with a baby nursing at her breast. She must have been killed a minute before. The baby didn’t even cry. And I was sitting right there…

  As long as I don’t lose mama…Mama holds my hand all the time and strokes my head: “Everything will be all right. Everything will be all right.”

  We rode in some truck, and all the children wore buckets on their heads. I didn’t obey mama…

  Then I remember—we’re being driven in a column…They’re taking my mama away from me…I seize her hands, I clutch at her marquisette dress. She wasn’t dressed for war. It was her fancy dress. Her best. I won’t let go…I cry…The fascist shoves me aside first with his submachine gun, and then, when I’m on the ground—with his boot. Some woman picks me up. Now she and I are for some reason riding on a train. Where? She calls me “Anechka”…But I think I had a different name…I seem to remember that it was different, but what it was I forgot. From fear. From fear that they’d taken my mama from me…Where are we going? I seem to understand from the conversation of the adults that we’re being taken to Germany. I remember my thoughts: why do the Germans need such a little girl? What am I going to do there? When it grew dark, the women took me to the door of the car and just pushed me out: “Run for it! Maybe you’ll save yourself.”

  I landed in some ditch and fell asleep there. It was cold, and I dreamed that mama was wrapping me in something warm and saying gentle words. I’ve had that dream all my life…

  Twenty-five years after the war I found just one of my aunts. She told me my real name, and for a long time I couldn’t get used to it.

  I didn’t respond to it…

  “HIS ARMY SHIRT WAS WET…”

  Valia Matiushkova

  FIVE YEARS OLD. NOW AN ENGINEER.

  You’ll be surprised! But I would like to recall something funny. Merry. I like to laugh, I don’t want to cry. O-o-oh…I’m already crying…

  Papa is taking me to mama in the maternity hospital and says that we’ll soon buy ourselves a boy
. I try to imagine what sort of little brother I’ll have. I ask papa, “What’s he like?” Papa says, “Small.”

  Suddenly papa and I are somewhere high up, and there’s smoke coming through the window. Papa carries me in his arms, and I ask him to go back for my little purse. I fuss. Papa says nothing and firmly presses me to himself, so firmly that I have a hard time breathing. Soon there is no papa; I’m walking down the street with some woman. We walk along the barbed wire. There are prisoners of war behind it. It’s hot, they ask for a drink of water. All I have is two pieces of candy in my pocket. I throw them over the wire. Where did I get them, these candies? I no longer remember. Someone throws bread…Cucumbers…The guard shoots, we run away…

  It’s astonishing, but I remember it all…In detail…

  Then I remember myself in a children’s center, also surrounded by barbed wire. We were guarded by German soldiers and German shepherds. There were some children who couldn’t walk yet, they crawled. When they were hungry they licked the floor…Ate dirt…They died quickly. The food was bad. They gave us bread that made our tongues swell so much that we couldn’t even speak. All we thought about was food. You finish breakfast and think—what will there be for lunch? You finish lunch—what’s for supper? We crawled under the barbed wire and escaped to town. There was one goal—the garbage dumps. It was an inexpressible joy when you found a herring skin or potato peels. We ate them raw.

  I remember being caught at the dump by some man. I was frightened. “I won’t do it anymore, mister.”

  He asked, “Whose child are you?”

  “Nobody’s. I’m from a children’s center.”

  He took me to his place and gave me something to eat. They only had potatoes in his house. They boiled them, and I ate a whole pot of potatoes.

  From the center they transferred us to an orphanage. The orphanage was across the street from a medical institute, which housed a German hospital. I remember low windows, heavy shutters, which were closed at night. They fed us well there, and my health improved. The cleaning woman there loved me very much. She pitied everybody, but especially me. When they came to take our blood, everybody hid: “The doctors are coming…”—and she put me in some corner. She kept saying that I resembled her daughter. Other children hid under the beds. They got pulled out. Lured by something. By a piece of bread, or else they’d show some toy. I remember a red ball…

  The “doctors” would go away, and I’d go back to the room…I remember a little boy lying there, his arm hanging from the bed, bleeding. And other children crying…Every two or three weeks new children came. Some were taken somewhere, they were already pale and weak, and others were brought. Fattened up.

  German doctors thought that the blood of children under five years old contributed to the speedy recovery of the wounded. That it had a rejuvenating effect. I found this out later…of course, later…

  And then…I wanted to get a pretty toy. A red ball.

  When the Germans began to flee from Minsk…to retreat…that woman who tried to save me led us outside the gate: “Those of you who have somebody, search for them. Those who don’t, go to any village, people there will save you.”

  And I went. I lived with some grandmother…I don’t remember her name or the name of the village. I do remember that her daughter had been arrested, and we were left just the two of us—the old one and the little one. We had a piece of bread for a week.

  I was the last to find out that our troops were in the village. I was sick. When I heard about it, I got up and ran to school. I saw a soldier and clung to him. I remember that his army shirt was wet.

  He had been embraced, and kissed, and wept over so much.

  “AS IF SHE HAD SAVED HIS OWN DAUGHTER…”

  Genia Zavoiner

  SEVEN YEARS OLD. NOW A RADIO TECHNICIAN.

  What have I preserved most in my memory? From those days…

  How they took my father away…He was in a quilted jacket, and I don’t remember his face, it has vanished completely from my memory. I remember his hands…They bound them with ropes. Papa’s hands…But no matter how I try, I can’t remember the faces of those who came for him either. There were several of them…

  Mama didn’t cry. She stood at the window all day.

  Father was taken away, and we were moved to the ghetto and began to live behind barbed wire. Our house stood by the road, and every day sticks came flying into our courtyard. I saw a fascist by our gate. When a group of people was being led out to be shot, he beat those people with sticks. The sticks would break, and he’d throw them over his shoulder. Into our courtyard. I wanted to have a better look at him, not just his back, and once I did see him: he was small, with a bald spot. He grunted and puffed. My child’s imagination was struck because he was so ordinary…

  We found our grandmother killed in her apartment…We buried her ourselves…Our cheerful and wise grandmother, who loved German music. German literature.

  Mama went to exchange things for food, and a pogrom began in the ghetto. Usually we hid in the cellar, but this time we went up to the attic. It was totally broken down on one side and that saved us. The Germans came into the house and poked the ceiling with their bayonets. They didn’t climb to the attic, because it was all broken down. But they threw grenades into the cellar.

  The pogrom lasted for three days, and we sat for three days in the attic. Mama wasn’t with us. We thought only about her. When the pogrom was over, we stood at the gate waiting to see if she was alive or not. Suddenly our former neighbor came around the corner; he passed by without stopping, but we heard: “Your mama is alive.” When mama came back, the three of us stood and looked at her. No one cried, we had no tears, but some sense of peace came over us. We didn’t even feel hungry.

  Mama and I stood by the barbed wire, and there was a beautiful woman passing by. She stopped next to us on the other side and said to mama, “I’m so sorry for you.” Mama replied, “If you’re sorry, take my daughter to live with you.” “All right”—and the woman began to think. The rest they said to each other in whispers.

  The next day mama brought me to the gate of the ghetto.

  “Genechka, take your doll carriage and go to Aunt Marussia” (our neighbor).

  I remember what I was wearing then: a blue top and a sweater with white pompoms. My best fancy clothes.

  Mama pushed me out the gate of the ghetto, and I pressed myself to her. She pushed me, and her face was flooded with tears. I remember how I went…I remember the gate, the sentry booth…

  I went with my doll carriage where mama told me to go. They put a warm jacket on me there and sat me in a wagon. I wept all the way and kept saying, “Wherever you are, mama, I’m there, too. Wherever you are…”

  They brought me to a farmstead and sat me on a long bench. There were four children in the family I came to. And they took me as well. I want everybody to know the name of the woman who saved me: Olympia Pozharitskaya, from the village of Genevichi, in the Volozhinsk district. As long as I lived in this family, fear lived in it. They could have been shot at any moment…the whole family…including the four children. For harboring a Jewish child from the ghetto. I was their death…What great hearts they had to have! Superhumanly human hearts…Whenever the Germans appeared, they would send me off somewhere at once. The forest was nearby, the forest saved us. That woman pitied me very much, she had the same pity for her own children and for me. When she gave something, she gave it to us all; when she kissed, she kissed us all. And she petted us all in the same way. I called her “mamusya.” Somewhere I had a mama, and here I had mamusya…

  When tanks came to the farmstead, I was herding cows. I saw the tanks and hid. I couldn’t believe they were our tanks, but when I made out the red stars on them, I came out to the road. An officer jumped off the first tank, picked me up and raised me very, very high. Then the owner of
the farm came running. She was so happy, so beautiful, she wanted so much to share something good, to tell that she, too, had done something for this victory. And she told how they had saved me. A Jewish girl…This officer pressed me to him, and I was so thin, I vanished under his arms. And he embraced that woman, he embraced her with such a look as if she had saved his own daughter. He said that all his family had been killed, and that when the war was over, he would come back and take me to Moscow. But I wouldn’t agree for anything, although I didn’t know whether my mama was alive or not.

  Other people came running, they also embraced me. And they all admitted that they knew who had been hidden at the farmstead.

  Then mama came to get me. She came into the yard and knelt down before that woman and her children…

  “THEY CARRIED ME TO THE UNIT IN THEIR ARMS…I WAS ALL ONE BRUISE FROM HEAD TO FOOT…”

  Volodia Ampilogov

  TEN YEARS OLD. NOW A LOCKSMITH.

  I’m ten years old, exactly ten years old…And it’s war. That bastardly war!

  I was playing hide-and-seek in the yard with the boys. A big truck drove into the yard, German soldiers leaped out of it, began to catch us and throw us into the back under the canvas. They brought us to the railway station. The truck backed up to the freight car, and they threw us in like sacks. Onto the straw.

  The car was so full that at first we could only stand. There were no adults, only children and adolescents. For two days and two nights we were driven with the doors shut, we didn’t see anything, and only heard the wheels knocking against the rails. During the day some light came through the cracks, but during the night we were so frightened we all cried: we were being taken somewhere far away, and our parents didn’t know where we were. On the third day the door opened, and a soldier threw in several loaves of bread. Those who were close managed to snatch some, and swallowed the bread instantly. I was at the far end from the door and didn’t see the bread, I only thought I smelled bread for a moment when I heard the shout: “Bread!” Just the smell of it.